Of Wings and Sky
by Victoria LeRoux
Summary: Companion to Of Hawks and Feathers and set during the Avengers. Clint's always taken his shapeshifting for granted - it's not until Loki takes it away that he realizes how much the hawk is a part of him.


Summary: Companion to _Of Hawks and Feathers. _Clint's always taken his shapeshifting for granted - it's not until Loki takes it away that he realizes how much the hawk is a part of him.

A/N: Well, it's been a while since I've touched Clint Barton (stop thinking those dirty thoughts, all of you). Back right after the Avengers came out, I wrote a piece entitled Of Hawks and Feathers and... yeah. This is the follow up to that. You don't need to read the other one to understand this, but in the spirit of shameless self-promotion I gently nudge you that way. Many thanks to Shazrolane and AIsForAwkward for looking this over at TheBetaBranch (Need a beta? We're recruiting! Just google us!)

* * *

"You have heart," Loki says, and by that he means, _you have something for me to control._

Clint can't fight, wouldn't if he knew how to. The hawk in him is terrified and feels trapped, but Loki's gaze has drawn Clint in like a moth to the flame.

Then there's the awful, horrible pain that starts at the center of his chest and spreads like poison. It binds him to Loki, shuts the hawk away, and leaves just plain, terrified, utterly _human_ Clint behind.

There's a feeling of warmth that follows in a rush, like he's curing himself of infection. Some part of him feels suddenly, terribly sad, and then he feels nothing at all.

* * *

He only remembers hazy flashes - moments of sudden disquiet, like when the sun displaced the waning moon one dawn and for a brief, unsettling moment he wanted nothing more than to take to the skies.

But Loki's there, always whispering to him. Words like _you don't need wings _and _you're mine now _blend together in a stream of reassurance and imprisonment. His brief moments of longing turn to disdain for the part Loki's power has shuttered away.

His master is all he needs now. Clint doesn't need the sky, with its volatile moods and currents. He simply needs the heavy, all-encompassing calm of Loki's placid skies.

Whispers of doubt are barely born before he culls them. He does not need doubt, not now. The part of himself that he's alternatively ignored and embraced is gone, and Loki's will is all that matters.

It is all he has left to cling to.

* * *

He wakes up with the world painted in different colors as flickers of memories come and go. He remembers the killing and the confusing sameness of his emotions and Loki's.

He shivers, asks Natasha if she knows what it's like to be unmade.

_"You know I do," _she replies in that deadly-quiet voice of hers and he meets her eyes. There's the shadow of a huntress lurking in her eyes, and he nods slightly in agreement.

He's shaking, and he feels like feathers are about to tear out of his skin, but he holds himself together for now. He has to hold himself together.

He can fall apart when the world's safe and no one's watching.

* * *

They win, and Clint barely has time to collect himself before Thor retrieves him from his shelter. He's shaking so badly that it's a miracle he can hold his bow steady, and he sees sidelong glances directed his way from everyone but Rogers.

He can feel himself beginning to unravel, feel his senses slowly adjusting as he trades dull smells in exchange for keen sight, but then Loki asks for a drink, and Clint's hands go suddenly, frighteningly, steady.

Tony drags them out for dinner, and it's all Clint can do not to throw up. Loki's filth feels like it's settled into his skin, and he wishes he could preen or feel Coulson's fingers running over his feathers again. It's as though he bathed in mud - each time he moves, he feels the oily residue of Loki's magic slide over his skin and try to find a purchase to cling to. The trembling won't go away and all he wants to do is fly, but Tony insists on 'team bonding'.

They sit in silence the entire meal, and Clint knows Natasha is watching his every movement, but he's glad for the silence. It means he doesn't have to find words, doesn't have to focus on much more than staying perfectly, absolutely, human.

At last they part, sending Thor and Loki back to Asgard, Clint breathes a sigh of relief as they finally drive away. The shaking's uncontrollable now, a mark that he's gone too long without Shifting, and he barely has time to gasp out _"stop"_ before he can feel the last threads of control slip through his fingers.

Natasha slams on the brake, throws the doors open, and then Clint's _free._

He bursts out of his skin and doesn't know if he's ever going to be able to turn back. He gives a harsh, sharp cry as he catapults into the sky, into the darkening ocean of pale blue so unlike the false calm given to him by Loki's seas.

_You don't need wings, _Loki's voice whispers deep inside of him once more, and he almost loses the updraft he's been flying on. Yet it's a small matter to lock the words far, far, away where they can't chase after him anymore. Clint regains his balance, steadies his shaking wings, and lets himself wheel gently over the earth below.

* * *

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